


Checking You Out

by kermitwashingtonlincon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Crowley Has ADHD (Good Omens), Disabled Crowley (Good Omens), F/F, Fanart, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Jewish Aziraphale (Good Omens), Mutual Pining, Neurodivergent Aziraphale (Good Omens), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, excessive use of parenthesis, we wanted to make it slow burn but we are impatient
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27404866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kermitwashingtonlincon/pseuds/kermitwashingtonlincon
Summary: Crowley’s eyes had to strain to read actual books, but her shoddy vision had nothing to do with why she struggled to focus on her reading when she stared at the girl in the velvet skirt who had caught her attention at some point over the past year. Today, she was reading her book with misty eyes. Crowley had never read a book that made her cry, she almost wanted to ask what was wrong. Almost.Mental Health Hiatus! Will be back!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 47





	1. Prologue:A Personal History

**Author's Note:**

> i have other stuff to write but the ineffable wives server and my friend hal are enablers

Contrary to prevailing assumptions, AJ Crowley was not a complete jackass with no empathy for anyone or anything. She was glad, though, that's what she  _ made _ people think. She could be rude on occasion, but it was to people who deserved it, like people that were being rude to people who didn't deserve it. Most of her free-time at Tadfield University was spent at Jasmine Cottage with her friend Anathema Device. 

The Devices had owned the cottage for years, mostly using it as a summer home (why anyone would want a summer home in England, Crowley had no idea), but it had become a permanent residence for Anathema while she studied- whatever it was she studied, Crowley was never actually certain what her major was, if she even had one. They’d met in an introductory astronomy class their first year, but Crowley had a sneaking suspicion Anathema was just taking whatever classes she wanted at her leisure. She was well aware of the Device family’s wealth, Anathema did not need a degree to be guaranteed a place in the world.

However, Crowley certainly didn’t mind Anathema’s insistence on paying for all of their lunch not-dates (they had tried a Date once, halfway through they both agreed it felt very wrong and that they were better off as friends). 

Currently, Crowley was in Jasmine Cottage with Anathema’s cat Luci (short for Lucifer, as they’d thought she was a boy until she gave birth under Anathema’s bed), and her kittens, Adam and Warlock, who were napping in the giant pockets of Crowley’s jacket. Crowley hadn’t planned on becoming a mother of two so soon, but she hadn’t really had a choice in the matter. 

Ever since Adam and Warlock had stopped relying on Luci, they went almost everywhere Crowley went, including school. They weren’t  _ technically  _ allowed, but what harm were they doing, napping in her pockets with those little doe eyes. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone ever cared enough to question Crowley when she said that they were her emotional support animals. 

Crowley’s favorite place to bring the kittens was a dark corner of the campus library, where she’d fold up her jacket to make a bed for them and put it on the arm of an obnoxiously floral couch. The boys would sleep and occasionally wake up for a bit of food while she listened to music or audiobooks and stared at the pretty blonde who read nearby. 

Crowley’s eyes had to strain to read actual books, but her shoddy vision had nothing to do with why she struggled to focus on her reading when she stared at the girl in the velvet skirt who had caught her attention at some point over the past year. Today, she was reading her book with misty eyes. Crowley had never read a book that made her cry, she almost wanted to ask what was wrong. Almost. 

Crowley sighed and scratched behind Warlock’s ear, squinting to make out the title of the book that was daring to make the pretty girl cry.  _ Look Homeward, Angel,  _ the faded cover read. She tilted her head to the side, and considered the dusty beams of light that made the nameless girl’s hair glow like a halo spun from white gold, like something out of a fairytale. 

_ Angel.  _ She could work with that.

  
  
  
  


Contrary to prevailing assumptions, Aziraphale Fell was not an English student. She read for pleasure, not to write essays nor to over-analyze books for a grade. No, she had her free time to do that. She had a lot of free time at Tadfield University, actually, and had spent most of it alone in the most comfortable chair in the corner of the library. 

The library had been a very attractive feature when she was looking for schools, the way this school looked like a small castle that let her imagine she was some princess from a far-off land just an added bonus. University life had significantly more papers and fewer dashing princes than she’d imagined as a little girl (the latter she didn’t mind, however. She would probably enjoy it more if those dashing princes turned into beautiful young women who would speak to her for longer than was necessary), but she enjoyed it nonetheless.

Aziraphale had never been popular, but reading had very quickly become a way to cope with that. She could lay in her bed or sit on a soft patch of ground under a tree and she could be anywhere she wanted, no need for friends. Her father had bought her a copy of  _ The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe _ on her tenth birthday, after a party that only three friends had attended, and it solidified her love for literature. She was often caught reading by the light of a lamp shaped like a sheep past her bedtime, and would have her book taken away for the night. She had protested, calling the punishment “cruel and unusual”, but her father always swore he would return her book before he left for work every day, and it was always left in front of her door. Many weekends were spent at the library with her father, sitting in a comfortable chair in the children's section and devouring book after book after book. 

Aziraphale missed those weekends at her father’s library, the light through the windows, the smell of the books and a strange comfort she couldn’t describe, so she often found herself in the library at school. It wasn’t as familiar as the one at home, but she had become friendly with a student who worked there, Newt. She doubted she would have become friends with him under different circumstances- he was awkward, and very  _ long _ . He had a long face and a long nose and long limbs, as if he was an image stretched to fill the empty space on your powerpoint. He was awkward and clumsy yet smart as a whip, though he was difficult to carry a conversation with. Still, it was nice to have anything close to a friend. 

Aziraphale was back from her brief summer break at home with her familiar library and familiar family. Her parents had recently gotten a dog called Goose, a big mutt that thought he was half the size he actually was but you couldn’t push him off your lap when he looked at you with those big brown eyes. The first book of this term she’d be checking out was one her mother had listened to on tape while she crocheted, something Aziraphale had never been able to get the hang of:  _ Look Homeward, Angel _ by Thomas Wolfe. 

Glancing at the table of contents, she decided to read four chapters each day, which would round out to an even ten days. Aziraphale sat in her armchair in a corner of the library, smoothed out her velvet skirt, and began to read.


	2. Bildungsroman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warlock explores the library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the amount of mistki i listened to while i wrote this lmao

It took Crowley fourteen days to finish the audiobook, not as boring as she’d expected a near century old book to be, but the author did tend to go on tangents that meant nothing. She’d planned on listening to just a few chapters a day, but the girl who she’d taken to calling Angel had finished reading on day ten, and Crowley was nothing if not determined. She made more of a point to be in the library in the afternoons, she started staying until Angel left, but not so soon that it looked like she was following her. She wasn’t, but she didn’t want to look like a creep. Angel had had her nose buried in  _ Wuthering Heights _ for a week or so and if Crowley was remembering correctly, that was a long one. She’d only heard the Kate Bush song - Anathema was a fan of Kate Bush. Not Crowley’s style, but it was a good song. 

Angel tore through books at an almost aggressive pace, by the end of the quarter, Crowley had listened to  _ Look Homeward Angel, The Hobbit, East of Eden, To The Lighthouse, _ and was going to start  _ Annie on my Mind _ after she finished  _ Wuthering Heights. _ Crowley was finding it difficult to keep up with it all, even listening to the books in her free time between classes. But it was worth it. It made her feel like she was sharing something with the girl who looked like she held entire universes in her mind. 

Despite the pace she read at, Angel was so very gentle with whatever book she was holding. Especially the books that had already been torn up or otherwise mistreated by previous patrons: she held them oh so tenderly as to not crease the spine, turning the pages with a gentleness that would make anyone think she was reading the only copy of the most precious book in the world. 

Crowley wondered how it would feel to be held like that.

Angel read  _ Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland  _ and  _ Through the Looking-Glass _ in one sitting, smiling and frowning and raising her perfect fluffy eyebrows the whole way through. Crowley had had it read to her when she was young, her mother had bought her books on tape to help her sleep (at least that’s what she had said - Crowley suspected that it was more to keep her from asking to be read to), so she’d tried to catch up with  _ The Hobbit _ . 

Some days, Angel wore reading glasses, little curved lenses that almost seemed more decorative than anything else, others there were none in sight. Crowley thought about this, she could imagine Angel getting out of her bed, which she was sure had at least three layers of blankets - she made a point not to linger on what Angel might wear to sleep - and accidentally leaving her glasses on her nightstand while she got dressed, as she probably read by lamplight into the wee hours of the morning. She seemed like the sort who made her bed before she left, too. She never showed up without her book, though. Crowley supposed that eye strain was less pressing than forgetting the thing that might strain your eyes, at least in the eyes of the library’s angel. Now that Crowley thought about it, she had never seen the blonde girl with her tartan socks and outdated clothing anywhere else. Maybe she was just a part of the library, an illusion, or the ghost of a girl that had died in the fifties (bouncy just-below-the-ears hair was a fifties thing, right?). Crowley didn’t actually believe that, she was still on the fence about ghosts, but her imagination didn’t seem to care. 

What was she even trying to gain from this? She had absolutely no plans of talking to Angel (she would love to, of course, but Crowley knew that that was expecting too much of herself), so this -- whatever  _ this  _ was -- wasn’t giving her any leverage for the future conversations. Crowley told herself this was just a very strange way of getting book recommendations. She was just... observing. Observing that the books were well-written enough to make the reader emotional. Yes, that was it. They were very good books, after all, though none of them had managed to make Crowley cry or laugh out loud yet, as she was very good at keeping her emotions in check in public (her mother had been sure to instill that particular value deep in her mind, unfortunately). Even if Crowley didn’t outwardly react to the books she listened to, however, she was certainly glad that Angel did. The way she laughed was wonderfully imperfect, a gentle giggle that started in her stomach, working its way up in starts and hiccups until smile lines formed around shining eyes as they shed tears of mirth that glittered beneath her fluffy eyelashes. Sometimes she would gasp in surprise, a hand flying to flutter about her chest like she was an actress in an old movie, and the pages of her book would turn faster. It always made Crowley smile. She liked to play a game as she read (well, listened) where she tried to guess which parts she’d seen or heard Angel reacting to, what parts she thought had made her cry, what parts brought out that gorgeous laugh. 

“It’s the same spot as always, Warlock,” Crowley said, settling into her corner for another day of listening - she was almost done with _ Wuthering Heights _ , which Angel had finished the day before, “I dunno why you feel the need to spend five minutes sniffing around every time.” The tiny black cat wandered around regardless, if he’d been able to, he probably would have rolled his eyes and said something about how many people sat there every day. It wasn’t many, actually, Crowley rarely saw anybody  _ in _ the library other than her and Angel, save for the usual librarians and the older woman with the bright hair who volunteered at the check-out desk every other Thursday. And the boy with the square glasses who ran off to the back office whenever Anathema came to keep Crowley company. And the students who came and went...actually, yeah, it was rather a lot of people, all things considered, but no real regulars like her and Angel. At least, Crowley didn’t think so. There was a good chance that she simply hadn’t noticed otherwise. 

Nearby, Angel was pulling an overstuffed armchair over to one of the study tables, and she had her reading glasses today, tiny gold frames that sat on her delicate nose. The light of the setting sun came in from the window on the other side of the library, illuminating her. She always sat in the eastern wing of the library, Crowley had noticed, if the compass rose on the floor was accurate (Tadfield University was a very strange place, though, so she wouldn’t have been surprised if it wasn’t). Crowley had a feeling that the people that had built it weren’t very good communicators, the halls were uneven and there were doors that led to nowhere. She enjoyed it, reveled in the chaos it brought, as long as she didn’t fall victim to it (Which she had. Many times. Getting lost wasn’t so bad until she had to ask the groundskeeper, Shadwell, for help. Shadwell had a thick accent, but it was unplaceable, the only way to describe it was  _ angry _ ).

Adam plopped down into Crowley’s lap and stared at her with his big yellow eyes. 

“You hungry?” She tapped him on the nose and let him lean his chin into her hand to scratch his soft cheek. Crowley leaned down to reach for a little treat from her bag and offered it to him. “We can go home soon and you’ll get some dinner.” He meowed in appreciation, snatching the treat from her hand. 

She looked over to check on Warlock...who was no longer exploring the sofa. She looked around. Angel glanced up from her book.

_ Shit _ . 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end was originally going to be a halfway point but we really fluffed it up and split the chapter


	3. The Masquerade Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Romeo and Juliet: Act I, Scene V  
> Alternatively titled: Warlock the wingcat”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hal says they hope youre appreciating the intellectual chapter titles

_ Miaow _ .

Aziraphale looked up. Was that...a cat? 

_ Meoooww. _

She looked down. 

“Oh, hello there!” the tiniest ball of fluff she had ever seen was walking in a figure eight around her loafers, stray black hairs stark against the light suede. 

_ Mraow _ , the kitten stared at her with wide, blue eyes. 

Aziraphale marked her place in  _ Annie on my Mind _ and gently knelt down to the kitten. She slowly brought her well-manicured hand to its chin to scratch, receiving a loud purr in response. “Aren’t you just darling?” she cooed. The fluffy tail curled around her wrist, and Aziraphale giggled. 

“Sorry about that,” said a voice above her, and Aziraphale looked up once again. And up. She stubbornly refused to think too much about the sinfully long legs of the woman standing over her. Her copper hair fell out of a grey knit beanie, loose curls artfully framing a sharply angled face. 

“Oh, is he yours?” She recognized her: the girl who always sat tucked away in a dark corner of the library yet never seemed to read any books. The girl who had, on occasion, sauntered her way into Aziraphale’s thoughts as she laid down to sleep, stubbornly returning no matter how many times Aziraphale told herself how silly she was being, thinking about a girl she’d never even spoken to before. Aziraphale watched as she leaned over to try and pick up the kitten, whose fur matched almost every item of clothing on her body, save for the blue lining on her jacket, the yellow and purple pronoun pin on her breast pocket, and the red straps of her knee brace. 

“Yeah,” the girl said, cursing under her breath as the cat evaded her hands, “Warlock, you know I can’t- I’m sorry, he’s-” she huffed as the kitten --  _ Warlock - _ \- darted to hide behind Aziraphale’s leg, “curious.”

Aziraphale took a moment to respond, she was trying not to stare (she was not successful, she was already counting the freckles that dotted the girl’s cheeks like stars on the clearest of nights), “O-oh I don’t mind at all, I love animals,” she smiled, standing up and brushing non-existent dust from her skirt, “are cats even allowed on campus?” 

“Ngk. Not...not really? But, I don’t really see the point in it,” she tugged a bit on her coat sleeve, an awkward action that Aziraphale should not have found as endearing as she did, “s’not a bad thing.” The redhead bit her lip and pushed up her (entirely unnecessary, considering the dim library, but who was Aziraphale to judge?) sunglasses. Though Aziraphale was grateful for a reason to not have to make eye contact with someone (it had never been her strong suit, her father used to tell her that she should pay attention to the eye color of whoever she was talking to but then she would get lost in them and not hear a word they said), she found herself thinking that she would very much like to see what was behind the dark lenses.

“Well,” she said instead of asking, bouncing on the balls of her feet, ”it must  _ be _ bad, otherwise you wouldn’t be hiding it.” 

The other girl opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, “Fair point.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Aziraphale said conspiratorially, “I won’t tell.” 

“You…” she floundered for a bit, which Aziraphale found awfully adorable, “You...yeah. Thanks.” 

“Could I hold him for a moment? He seemed awfully determined to say hello.” Aziraphale said. She took off her reading glasses, tucked them into her breast pocket, and held out her hands. 

She was talking to her.  _ She was talking to Angel,  _ and it was because Warlock had decided to go  _ exploring. _

Crowley nodded and handed Warlock to Angel, shaking slightly when their arms brushed for the handoff. The little bastard purred loudly and burrowed into the collar of Angel’s yellow cardigan, right at the spot where the fabric met soft cream skin. Crowley worried at her bottom lip - she was  _ not _ about to be jealous of her cat. Nope. 

“Oh, is it warm in there?” Angel giggled and pulled him off of her chest so she could cradle him like a baby, “You know,” she said conspiratorially, “I wouldn’t mind if you broke the rules and brought him back here again.”

Crowley bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming - her cat was getting to more places in two minutes than she probably ever would, “Erm, as long as he’s not bothering you.”

“Of course not,” the blonde smiled. Sweet  _ Someone _ did she have a nice smile, the type to light up a whole goddamn room. Her eyes twinkled blue and gray and green, like one of those toy kaleidoscopes that Crowley and Beelz had played with as kids, “I’m here nearly every day, it can get quite lonely.”

“I know-“ Crowley stopped herself, she would  _ not _ admit she’d been going to the library almost daily just to ogle at the local angel, “I know it can get lonely, I mean,” she corrected herself, “‘S why I like to bring the boys.”

Angel raised an eyebrow, “Boys?” 

“Oh, yeah!” Crowley grinned, “There’s two of them, just a tic,” she hurried back to her spot to scoop up Adam, who was  _ behaving _ and  _ staying in his spot _ , and returned with the calico perched on her shoulder, “This is Adam.” 

“Hello Adam,” Angel cooed, actually  _ cooed _ , as Adam purred and bunted his head against her hand, “Oh, they’re so sweet!” 

“Traitors.” Crowley mumbled. 

“Hm?” Shit. 

“S’an attack purr,” she said quickly, “he’s actually a demon, lulling you into a false sense of security,” she rubbed awkwardly at the back of her neck, “yeah.”

Angel laughed again, and  _ bless it, _ she was so  _ perfect _ , “And what would he do, pray tell, once I am lulled into security?”

“Dunno,” Crowley let Adam crawl into her jacket pocket, his whole body vibrating with the force of his purring, “we'll see if you're alive tomorrow.” 

“I hope I am,” Angel handed Warlock back to her. She picked up her coat, her leather messenger bag and her book, “It was nice meeting you...” 

”Crowley.” She supplied. 

“Just Crowley?”

“Just Crowley.” 

“Well,” and  _ oh,  _ that smile was all for  _ her _ and it was  _ doing things  _ to her heart, “it was nice meeting you, Crowley.” Crowley watched the way Angel’s light curls bounced when she moved, the sway of her skirt as she spun on her heel to walk away. She even managed to make putting on her jacket look graceful. 

_ Shit _ , thought Crowley, she hadn’t asked her name.


	4. Aporia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aporia: An expression of insincere doubt; a character pretends to be unaware of a crucial piece of information.

It was only when Aziraphale got home and closed the door behind her that she realized she hadn’t given Crowley her name.

“Aziraphale?” called her aunt Tracy from the sitting room (Tracy was not  _ actually  _ Aziraphale’s aunt, but she had been friends with her mum since long before Aziraphale was born, and she couldn’t think of her as anything less than family), “You’re home early.”

Aziraphale looked at the clock on the wall, it was only five, but she usually got home closer to seven, “Yes- er-” she scrambled for an excuse, not sure why she felt she needed one, “I was having a panic attack.” Not necessarily a  _ lie _ , she thought, she  _ had _ been having a bit of a panic when she rushed out, but it hadn’t been the  _ bad _ sort of panic, not at all. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, dearie,” Tracy came to meet her in the hallway, “would you like some tea or cocoa?” Tracy looked at her in a way that told her she knew she was lying, she knew what Aziraphale looked and acted like after a panic attack, and this was not it. She wasn’t going to call her out on it, though, for which Aziraphale was thankful. 

“Cocoa, please,” Aziraphale said, hanging up her coat and wandering into the kitchen, “I can make some myself, it’s alright.” 

“Oh no, luv. I insist.”

She knew not to argue with that, hearing that Tracy insisted meant she insisted. Aziraphale had learned that the hard way when her father had told everyone where she was headed to university and Tracy  _ insisted _ that she save money and live in her guest room. Aziraphale had tried telling her she could make it on her own or get some flatmates, but Tracy wouldn’t hear a single word. Admittedly, Aziraphale was more comfortable living with her very strange and eclectic aunt than with a stranger, and she  _ did _ enjoy chatting with Tracy’s witchy (“occultist, dearie. They’re not all technically witches”) friends when it was her turn to host. Tracy was part of a coven, see, which, as far as Aziraphale could tell, mostly involved having dinner parties, talking about crystals, and occasionally communing with the spirits and whatnot. Aziraphale would have dinner with them whenever Tracy hosted, they always had good food. Last month, Diane had brought cornish pasties, absolutely scrummy. It had taken a while for Aziraphale to learn everyone’s names, but she loved just sitting and listening to the stories the women had to tell. 

Recently, a girl Aziraphale’s age had joined the coven, one Anathema Jane Device (Aziraphale had learned her name quite fair because it was ever so pleasing to say aloud). She was American but had apparently lived in the Tadfield area for a while, lived in some cottage her wealthy family owned. All women in her family were witches, and her very very great grandmother had been a prophet. Anathema missed dinners with her mother, she’d said one night, and Aziraphale had been instantly won over not only by the other girl’s charm and wit, but also by her homemade enchiladas (chicken instead of the pork she normally made it with, at Tracy’s request and Aziraphale’s delight) and passion for the occult and abnormal. 

Aziraphale drew herself out of her thoughts, and found herself with a mug of cocoa in her hands and her behind in an armchair probably older than Tracy herself. She lifted the mug to her lips. 

“It’s hot,” Tracy chided, settling into her own chair with a mug that read ‘purrfect brew’. 

“I know, I’m not a child.”

Tracy put her hands up defensively, “Yes, I know,” she said, “but I also know that you tend to rush through things after an episode.”

Aziraphale shifted in her seat, she didn’t like lying, but she didn’t want to share all of her problems with her aunt,  _ especially _ not the problem of being so attracted to a stranger that she’d practically run off. It did feel very nice to have someone care for her like Tracy did. Someone who knew how her panic attacks made her act and how she liked her hot chocolate. Her parents were wonderful, but they didn’t really understand how her mind worked, sometimes. She took a sip and closed her eyes, humming contentedly. 

“Good?” Tracy smiled. 

“Mhm,” Tracy made the best cocoa: dark and thick, with just a hint of chile and a generous pile of marshmallows, “Thank you.” 

“Of course, luv.” 

Majorie “Tracy” Potts was not a stupid woman. She was many things, yes, but not stupid. She knew when she was being lied to. Especially when it was Aziraphale, her niece was a terrible liar. She would shift uncomfortably in her seat and avoid eye contact (well, more than usual), blurting out excuses that weren’t really necessary but seemed to calm her down, no matter how unconvincing they inevitably were. Tracy made her cocoa all the same, because she knew that if Aziraphale was lying to _her,_ it was likely about something important. And if that “something important” happened to have to do with a certain red haired library patron, well, that was just a bonus. 

“What happened?” she prodded once Aziraphale had settled into her seat. ‘Settled’ being a relative term, she was still moving about, crossing and uncrossing her legs, tugging at her skirt between swallows. 

“I was just,” Aziraphale paused, suddenly finding a button on her cardigan incredibly interesting, “Overwhelmed.”

Tracy tutted, taking a sip of her own cocoa, she was not often the one for bragging, but she had to admit that it had turned out wonderfully, “I’m sorry, dearie. Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Not particularly.” Aziraphale wouldn’t meet her eyes, staring instead at the surface of her drink between sips. They were quiet for a while, only the sounds of polite cocoa drinking interrupting the comfortable stillness. 

“Do you believe,” Aziraphale said once she’d finished her drink, her words slow and deliberate, “in love at first sight?” 

_ Ah _ , Tracy thought with no small amount of glee,  _ I was right. Oh, Anathema is going to be so pleased!  _ Aloud, she made an inquisitive sound, “I don’t know,” she said, “why do you ask?”

“O-oh,” Aziraphale squirmed a bit, her cheeks flushing a rather lovely pink, “no reason.” 

Tracy knew full well that “no reason” meant there were all sorts of reasons, but she wouldn’t pry. Yet.

Tracy also knew that a handsome young woman with bright red hair had been checking out audiobooks, the same titles that Aziraphale had been reading a few days before. On a seemingly unrelated note, young Anathema, who could be quite the conversationalist, had recently started talking about a certain red haired housemate of hers at coven dinners. 

_ “I’m going to invite her some day, she needs to get out more,” she had said one night over dinner. The rest of the group, ever the gossips, had nodded their heads and insisted that she do just that. _

_ “You two seem close,” Luka had commented, “are you-?” _

_ Anathema sputtered, “Absolutely not, she’s like my sister. Tried it, not any good.” _

_ The rest of the group had looked at each other and grinned.  _

Yes, Anathema was going to be very pleased indeed.


	5. Tautology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tautology: saying the same thing twice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * shameless OC insert * -Hal)

“ _ Anathema _ ,” Crowley would’ve slammed the cottage door behind her, but she didn’t want to give Luci another reason to scratch her. Whatever, it was the thought that counted, right? “I’ve had,” she kicked off her left boot and leaned down to untie her right one, “the worst,” she got the boot off and threw it in the general direction of the other, “day. The worst.” 

“Oh?” Anathema called from the sitting room, “Would that have anything to do with-”

“ _ Don’t.” _

“With _ Angel? _ ” Damnit, Crowley could  _ hear _ the sparkly emojis around the word. She had no idea how Anathema always managed to have that effect -  _ must be a witchy thing _ , she thought.

“Shut up!” Crowley made her way further into the cottage, “Move over,” Anathema did, and Crowley flopped face first onto the couch. 

“So I’m right.”

“N’ver said that.” Crowley said, voice muffled by the pillow she had stuffed her face into. 

“But I’m not  _ wrong, _ am I?”

“Ngk.”

Though she couldn’t see Anathema’s face, Crowley knew the  _ exact  _ smug smile she was wearing, “You haven’t even talked to her.”

“Did.”

“Hm?” 

Crowley sat up and matched her friend’s grin, “Actually, I did talk to her today,” she said, “she likes the cats.”

“Well look at you, taking initiative!” 

“Well…” Crowley mumbled something that Anathema didn’t catch. 

“Hm?”

“I didn’t...ngk.” 

“You didn’t…?” Anathema could be a bitch when she felt like it, which was often. 

“Warlockmademetalktoher!” Crowley said, and flopped back over, hanging her head over the arm of the couch. Anathema cackled.

“How did he-”

“He went exploring.” Crowley groused.

“He’s a wingcat!” Anathema gasped, taking off her glasses to wipe away tears. 

“He’s a bastard, s’what he is. Takes after his mum.” 

“Mum as in Luci, or mum as in you?” Crowley threw a pillow at her, and Anathema dissolved back into giggles. 

“Oi!” 

“Luci, then,” Anathema continued once she could breathe again, “you’re too soft.” 

“Witch.”

“Occultist, actually,” Anathema knew the correction was not necessary, Crowley knew that she was not a witch, she just enjoyed pushing her buttons, and Anathema knew correcting her pushed  _ her _ buttons, and that was that, “Did you get her name?”

Crowley looked down, face flushing, “Ng-no.”

“Jesus  _ Christ _ , AJ.”

“But she knows mine! She told me to bring the boys back tomorrow, she likes them,” Crowley protested. She crossed and uncrossed her legs.

“But…?” Anathema prompted.

“But she did leave earlier than usual.” Anathema groaned. 

“You  _ idiot. _ ” 

  
  


Crowley had a paper due tomorrow, it was mostly done but she needed to sit in the library and work. She  _ could  _ work in her dorm room, of course, but, well. There was a reason she mostly lived at Jasmine Cottage. To her, her dorm was a place to store her clothes and plants, and sometimes sleep. 

She would just... not stare at Angel all afternoon, that was it. Adam and Warlock would nap, and Crowley would focus on her paper. And maybe she’d invite Angel to come sit with her once she was done (that part had been Anathema’s idea). Yeah. Crowley was trying to remember the source of a quote that she’d forgotten to bookmark because  _ of course _ she had. She sighed and looked up.

Angel was settling in at her usual table, in one of the new rocking chairs the library had gotten, the type for fidgety students with restless leg syndrome. Next to her stood a girl with warm brown skin and tight curls pulled into a braid, spreading out papers and books before sitting down herself. Angel looked at her with a soft smile, saying something that Crowley couldn’t catch. Not that it mattered, anyway.  _ Damnit. _

Crowley rested her cheek in her hand and tried to make sure she wasn’t being too obvious in her staring. Angel and the mystery girl were laughing at something, but Crowley could not for the life of her pick up anything they said. Curse the obligation to speak quietly in a library. She scratched Adam’s chin absently and sighed. Warlock meowed imploringly from his spot, and Crowley huffed a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I know, guys,” she said, “she’s...ngk. Soft, I get it.” She stuck in her earbuds and set her playlist to shuffle. 

_ A heart full of love… _

Crowley groaned. 

_ A heart full of song, I’m doing everything all wrong- _ Marius continued. Crowley closed her eyes and leaned back against the bookshelf. 

_ Oh God, for shame, I do not even know your name… _ she snorted, and hummed along softly, pausing to let out a shaky sigh when Eponine began to sing about how Marius could never love her back. Crowley changed the song,  _ Mother Mother _ was better to stop her moping. 

“That’s enough of that, I think,” she said. Adam batted at the dangling cords. “Don’t do that.” Adam ignored her, because of course he did. 

“Alright, we need to focus,” Aziraphale giggled. This project they were working on was due next week, but this was the only day she and Kolchael could meet up in person. 

“I’m not the one who keeps getting distracted,” Kolchael said pointedly, though her smile didn’t fade, “you’ve been reading the same page for five minutes.”

Aziraphale blushed, “Sorry, dear.”

“Azira’leh’s got a crush,” Kolchael teased, drumming her fingers on the table. Aziraphale groaned. 

“I should never have told you about that.” she said. 

“You didn’t need to,” Kolchael tapped her temple with a grin, “it’s a sense.” 

“And by sense, you mean-”

“The fact that we both go to Hillel. Yes.” 

Aziraphale put her hand on her book, “Could we talk about this another time? She’s here,” mischief glistened in her classmate’s eyes, and she opened her mouth to speak, “do not.”

“Redhead right?”

“Kolchael,” Aziraphale said, “Please. I’ve had one conversation with her. She said she’d let me hang out with the cats,” Kolchael snorted, “again but she hasn’t invited me over and I won’t be scaring her away,” she paused, “besides, she has a name, you know.” 

“Oh? What is it?”

“Her name’s Crowley.”

“That’s an odd name.” Kolchael said. 

Aziraphale looked at her flatly, “I don’t believe that either of us can speak to that, dear.” Aziraphale did not consider her own name  _ odd _ , even if her classmates growing up did. It had a lovely meaning, if one had the linguistic know-how to appreciate it:  _ Helpmate to The Lord’s Healer _ , and then, less impressive but still quite lovely,  _ bird.  _ She liked her name, and she was proud of it.  _ Aziraphale Zipporah Fell _ , she liked to say it aloud, the way it felt on her tongue. She had also enjoyed people trying to guess her middle name when she was younger. 

Kolchael opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again, “I have an... old family name,” she protested. 

“How do you know that Crowley isn’t an old family name?”

“Fair point.” they shared a smile. 

“Anyway,” Aziraphale said, “we need to get our heads in the field - is that the saying?”

“Get our heads in the game, I think.” Kolchael toggled her computer mouse. 

“Yes. That.” 

“Alright, here we are,” she turned her laptop around so that Aziraphale could see the screen, “the Ladies of Téviec.”

“Discovered on the island of Téviec, one of the few known Mesolithic sites…” Aziraphale read aloud, trailing off as she continued reading information that she already knew. It was such a tragic subject, but it had an air of beauty around it that lingered with her. 

When she had been younger and trying to figure out why a girl in her school choir made her heart flutter, she’d somehow found herself on an old library computer reading about same-sex relationships throughout history. Printing pages off to hide in her nightstand and read into the early hours of the morning. She’d never been in an actual relationship, no, no one had ever liked her in that way. Not for lack of trying, she had tried... six times? Yes, that seemed right. But she was beginning to accept that she was simply not the type of person people saw in a romantic way. Maybe this time would be different, she thought absently as she turned a page in her notebook. Seventh time’s the charm.

“Awfully heavy topic for a college faire, isn’t it,” Kolchael said after a while, “I guess it’ll give a good idea of what studying anthropology looks like, though?”

“Something like that, yes,” Aziraphale hummed, setting down her pen. 


	6. Allusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An expression designed to call something to mind without mentioning it explicitly; an indirect or passing reference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> referencing friends fics b like

“Aziraphale, you’re going to be late!” Tracy called up the stairs. 

“I know, I’m coming!” Aziraphale hopped on one foot as she pulled on her sock, she’d never been very good at balancing. She sat down on the bed and put on her shoes, much more lady-like of her, then grabbed her bag and hurried down to the kitchen.

“I toasted your croissant for you, dear, it’s by your pillbox,” Tracy said. Aziraphale thanked her somewhat breathlessly, taking a bite of said croissant and running to the door. When she was about to open the door to leave, she spun around on her heel. Tracy was already holding her medications and a glass of water.

“What would I do without you?” Aziraphale gasped. She took her pills and gulped down the water.

“Get to classes late and anxious?” Tracy teased.

“It seems so.”

“Don’t stay too late, we have dinner tonight with the girls. Delilah is bringing babka for dessert!”

Aziraphale assured her she would not forget and rushed outside, closing the purple door behind her, and down the road to Tadfield University. She was not late yet, in fact she had fifteen minutes until her first class started, but it was an eighteen minute walk. Not that Professor Gaiman was particularly strict, but she did not like to have her daily schedule interrupted.

Normally, she woke up half an hour before she had to leave, she made her bed, got dressed, and headed downstairs. Aziraphale would have breakfast with Tracy, who most often had curlers in her hair, take her medication, grab her bag and get to school. She forgot her glasses more often than she remembered them, sometimes she’d run back for them, but most days she didn’t bother. She would have three classes, take perhaps too many notes to keep her hands busy and her head grounded, and eat lunch in the library at noon before her final two classes. Then, the highlight of her day, sitting at the library until six o’clock or thereabouts to read, if she was in the middle of a chapter she’d stay late to finish it. Sometimes, she would stop by the shop on the way home and get something Tracy told her to grab (one of the only reasons she used her cell phone). 

When she got home she would usually go up her room and do her homework while Tracy conducted seances and things. Except on Thursdays, when Aziraphale did her work in the sitting room while Tracy watched a week's worth of recorded soaps (this one was about some young man with heart problems, he fainted quite often, apparently he’d run away from his rich family now, faked his death. Aziraphale wasn’t following the plot, she just absorbed information from hearing it and having Tracy tell the coven about it whenever she joined in on their dinners on the first Friday of every month). 

In other words, Aziraphale had a routine, and she did not like having it disturbed by malfunctioning Hello Kitty alarm clocks (Tracy’s, she’d taken it down from storage a few years ago and Aziraphale couldn’t turn it down). It hardly mattered, though, she thought as she strode down the corridor to the lecture hall, sometimes things just didn’t go as planned. 

  
  
  


Madame Tracy startled at the loud ringing of her landline. She shut off the sink and wiped her hands on her apron before walking across the kitchen to answer.

“Hello?”

“We’re gonna need some more food tonight,” said Anathema in lieu of proper greeting, “I have a friend coming.”

“Of course, dearie, I’ll just wash some more vegetables,” she put the phone between her cheek and shoulder and opened the fridge, “Oh I’ll have to make sure Aziraphale doesn’t forget all about it, I’ll message her right away.”

Anathema laughed, “It’s all falling into place.” Tracy rolled her eyes, smiling fondly. 

“Oh, don’t be so ominous,” she chided, “I’ll see you tonight. Buh-bye!”

“Bye!”

  
  
  


“I still don’t get what you need me for,” Crowley pulled the Bentley into a probably illegal parking spot on the curb in front of a little yellow house, ignoring her friend’s half-hearted warning about black ice, “are you sure I can’t just drop you off?”

“I’m sure,” Anathema hefted her blue carpet bag over her shoulder and opened the passenger side door, “besides, it’ll be good for you to get some social interaction!” 

“I get plenty of social interaction!” Crowley protested. She grabbed her own bag, made sure that Adam and Warlock were still in there (they would be too big to be going everywhere with her soon), and scrambled out of the car. “And give me back my keys!” 

“Nope!” Anathema stuffed the keys into one of her endless pockets (if an item of clothing did not have at least one pocket, Anathema was known to not buy it or to sew some in herself), her skirt swishing as she made her way up the walkway.

“Witch!” Crowley yelled.

“I’m an occultist!”

Crowley groaned and joined her friend by the front door while she knocked. 

The door opened and they were greeted by the bright-haired woman that worked at the library sometimes, Miss Potts. Tonight, her hair was in its typical bright orange curls, wearing chunky costume jewelry and a bright blue blouse layered on all sorts of things. Somehow, she made it work.

“Oh, hello! We’re getting ready to sit down,” her jewelry clanged together as she ushered the two of them inside, “I’m Madame Tracy, if you didn’t know, dear.”

“Crowley,” Crowley reached out her hand to shake.

Tracy took it eagerly, “Wonderful to meet you, dear! I’ve heard so much about you!”

“Only good things, I assume?” Crowley said, shooting a glare at Anathema, who just grinned and left her to fend for herself.

“Oh, this and that,” Tracy said with a coy smile, “now come on in!” 

By the looks of the inside of the house, with all the candles and loud patterns and things, one would expect the whole room to have an overwhelming smell, and Crowley thanked her lucky stars it only smelled of gentle flowers and whatever was cooking. Sat around a long dining table were two women who looked to be around Tracy’s age, and two others who Crowley assumed to be fellow students. 

“What do you all even talk about?” Crowley whispered and knelt down to let the boys out of her bag. Adam immediately set off into a run (more of a trot, really - his legs were still far too short to keep pace with the determined energy contained in his tiny body), Warlock taking a few seconds to yawn and look around before zooming after his brother.

“Tracy has a niece our age, she should be over soon,” Anathema pointed to a seat by the end of the table, “go sit next to Mary.”

Crowley made a face, “I don’t know her.”

“Don’t be rude, you’re here to be social, and Mary is the most social of all of us,” her friend chided, Crowley made another face, “AJ.”

She sighed. “Fine.”

Crowley walked over to sit next to Mary, who she quickly found out was indeed the perfect conversation partner for someone who did not want to converse. Mary talked quickly and loudly, moving her head and hands all about. Apparently, she had been a sister of a satanic nunnery just outside of town before the building was set on fire by some arsonist who had never been caught. She’d enrolled in Tadfield university, learned to walk in heels and ran paintball games out of the former nunnery. She joined the coven because she missed her sisters in the nunnery, and all of these women were (nearly) just as chatty as her. Crowley had a headache just thinking about it.

Mary only paused her chattering when she was eating. When she wasn’t doing that she was endangering everyone near her by flinging her fork around in her hand for emphasis. At every beat of silence Crowley to say something about how interesting that all seemed, or comment on how good the food was, which wasn’t actually that difficult, it was interesting and the pasta  _ was  _ quite good. Anathema had informed everyone of Crowley’s food sensitivities ahead of time, it seemed.

Eventually, Mary switched seats with the girl at the end of the table, who winked at Crowley as she slid into the chair next to her. She took a moment to rework her dark hair back into its ponytail, then grabbed her plate and resumed her meal as if nothing had happened. 

“Thanks,” Crowley muttered.

“Don’t mention it,” she said, “I’m Luka, by the way. She/her at the moment. Don’t think I got a chance to properly introduce myself.” She offered a pale hand, which Crowley shook with a tentative smile. 

“Crowley,” she said finally, “uh, she/they.” 

“Pleasure.” It sounded genuine, no condescension. Crowley liked that, and she liked that there was no sign of question at her name. She smiled to herself, and let herself be pulled back into the lull of conversation. 

  
  
  


“Where _ is _ that Aziraphale?” asked the woman next to Anathema on the other side of the table (Crowley couldn’t remember her name, something that started with a ‘D’), “she’s normally so punctual!” 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley said, raising an eyebrow. 

“My niece, she goes to school with the both of you,” Tracy gestured to the empty seat on Crowley’s left, “She normally sits next to where you are, but she must have forgotten about dinner. Shame, I think you’d like her.” 

“She’s in my classic literature class,” Luka added, “anthropology student, if I remember correctly. Very clever young thing.”

“Oh. Sorry she couldn’t make it,” Crowley wasn’t sorry, she didn’t need some other stranger to sit next to her. She liked the extra space on her side, it let her move her legs around a bit (she  _ did _ briefly consider moving into the empty seat, but that would be incredibly rude. Not that she often cared about being rude, but she knew Anathema would get on her case about it if she did, and she didn’t much like the idea of having to make her own coffee for the foreseeable future.)

There was the sound of the door bursting open, “Oh, that’ll be her now!” Tracy said delightedly. 

“Oh, speak of the devil,” said --  _ Delilah,  _ that was her name, Crowley thought triumphantly as she reached for her glass -- Delilah, “well, angel, really.” 

“Apologies, lost track of time!” Crowley’s hand froze, and she slowly raised her head as a familiar figure rounded the corner between the hallway and the dining room, “hope you haven’t eaten everyth-  _ oh. _ ” 

_ Yeah,  _ thought Crowley absently,  _ oh, indeed.  _


	7. Kairos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kairos (kīräs): Greek. Exactly the right moment.

Aziraphale slipped  _ Annie on my Mind _ into the return box, she liked keeping on her reading schedule, even if it meant she stayed at the library late-  _ late _ \- oh! She was late! 

She made a mad, yet polite, dash outside and down the dark street. Feeling very much like the white rabbit on his way back to Wonderland. Aziraphale did love the streets at night, even if her legs got cold (she made a mental note to find her thermal stockings after dinner_. She jumped on each of the stepping stones in the yard up to the front door. The welcoming warmth of the house enveloped her as she opened the door with a bit more force than was probably necessary and walked in, and she took a moment to close her eyes and ground herself. She could hear the chattering of the coven in the dining room. 

“Apologies, lost track of the time,” she called as she hung up her coat and bag, “Hope you haven’t eaten everyth- oh,” she stopped in her tracks, Crowley from the library was there, sitting between Luka and Aziraphale’s usual seat. 

“We always save some for you,” said Tracy with a warm smile, “come sit!” 

Aziraphale obeyed, albeit hesitantly, and sat down, “Crowley, right?” It wasn’t a question, she knew she was right because now the girl that invaded her private thoughts had a name, “I never gave you  _ my  _ name, I realize.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, “They’ve been talking about you.”

“All good things I hope.” Aziraphale replied with a nervous laugh. 

“Dunno if they  _ can _ say anything bad about you, ‘ccording to them you’re an angel.”

Aziraphale flushed, “O-oh thank you. It was bothering me.”

After a moment of silence, she realized that her pasta was getting cold, if it wasn’t already, and grabbed a fork in one hand to take a bite. Humming with delight, she took another bite, trying to distract herself from the eyes she could feel looking at her from behind the sunglasses. 

The ladies of the coven continued their conversations while they finished up their dinner. Luckily, most of them didn’t eat too fast which meant Aziraphale wouldn’t be the last one eating and keep everyone waiting on dessert.

When Aziraphale was finished she stood to take everyone’s plates to the kitchen. This was normally something she would do, but the excuse to get away from sitting so close to Crowley was a bonus. Not that sitting next to Crowley wasn’t appealing, but the proximity was making Aziraphale feel almost uncomfortably warm despite the fact that she was still thawing out. 

Delilah took it upon herself to come to the kitchen and grab everyone a slice of babka, “You look pale, are you alright sweetheart?”

“I’m alright, just a bit tired,” Aziraphale put a clean bowl onto the drying rack.

“I didn’t know you and Crowley knew each other,” Delilah said, “She’s a sweet girl. Anathema talks about her all the time.”

Aziraphale thought of all the conversations she’d had with Anathema, she couldn’t recall any mention of someone named Crowley, “I guess I hadn’t noticed. Crowley and I have met just once before, I’d hardly call it  _ knowing _ her,” she said, wringing her hands.

“I think you two would be good for each other. You’re both smart young women,” 

“I think I would say woman-adjacent with me,” Aziraphale said timidly.

“Right, of course,” with that, Delilah headed back to the dining room to give everyone their dessert plates, and Aziraphale followed shortly after. 

Crowley bounced her left leg quickly under the table, waiting for Aziraphale to get back.  _ Aziraphale,  _ it was such a good name, it suited her, Crowley thought. 

Mary was chattering on again from her place at the table, something about why she’d become a nun before the group dissolved. Crowley tried to focus on what Mary was saying about the lonely nights in the nunnery instead thinking about the way Aziraphale hummed when she ate. She crossed her legs and uncrossed them again, unable to find a comfortable way to sit in the chair. Was it wobbling? It felt like it was wobbling. Adam and Warlock were asleep on the couch in the other room. It wouldn’t be rude if she got up to check on them, would it? Not that being polite had ever been something she’d cared all that much about. Luka said something about how Crowley was welcome to an early ride home if she needed one, but why would she need to leave? She was  _ fine. _

The woman with the ‘D’ name came out with plates of sliced bread and started handing them out, “What is this?” Crowley asked softly once Aziraphale had sat back down. 

“Babka, it’s one of my favorites,” Aziraphale smiled, and the butterflies in Crowley’s stomach resumed their fluttering. 

“Never had it,” she said.

Aziraphale wiggled in her seat, “Oh, well, let me tempt you to...well,” she stopped, giggling a bit before getting a hold of herself, “here.” She took a dessert plate from the middle of the table and placed it in front of Crowley, looking expectantly at her. 

It actually felt a bit strange to have food served to her by someone else. When she’d lived with her parents it had been that way, they would say grace and ate quietly and politely. Crowley had never liked it. At aunt Sam’s it had usually been everyone serving themselves: sometimes it was prepared dinner, like Christmas or someone’s birthday, but most often it was ‘make whatever you want, sit on the floor in the living room, and don’t spill on the carpet.’

“Thank you,” Crowley said finally. She took a bit of the bread and put it in her mouth. It was sweet: swirls of chocolate and cinnamon kneaded into the dense dough. 

Aziraphale put her chin in her hand, her cheek squishing adorably, “Well?”

“Hmbg- good,” she swallowed, coughing a bit and reaching for her water glass, “cinnamony.” 

“Wonderful,” she said as if she’d made it herself before digging into her slice, humming with delight, “This is  _ wonderful _ , Delilah, thank you.” The woman in question nodded in thanks. Crowley slowly ate her food, far too aware of how the blonde beside her ate happily and reached for a second slice. She shot a glance at Anathema. 

‘ _ Occultist _ ’ her friend mouthed before Crowley could say anything.

“Erm- where’s the washroom?” Crowley asked their host.

“Down the hall to your left, first door. Aziraphale could show you.”

“I’m sure I can find it myself, thank you,” she stood as politely as she could and walked down the hall. Looking at all the photos she hadn’t paid attention to before. 

A younger Tracy sipping from a bright pink tea set with a young girl with curly blonde hair, who Crowley realized must’ve been Aziraphale. What appeared to be the group of women in the dining room, give or take a few, also younger. Some photos of what Crowley assumed were travel destinations, old ruins, temples, forests, some with Tracy striking a pose, others with meandering tourists. 

Crowley didn’t find the first door on the left, but she did find Adam and Warlock napping on her discarded boots. She nudged them gently, lacing up the boots as quickly as she could. “We’re going home,” she said. She picked the pair up and put them into her pockets with a huff, “You’re getting so big.” She opened the front door and slipped outside, shutting the door gingerly behind her. She went to the Bentley, very aware of the icy driveway, and rubbed the frost off a door handle and attempted to pull it open. Attempted. 

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Crowley grumbled, Anathema had her keys. She rubbed some more frost off the hood of the car and sat down. She could wait. 

  
  
  
  


“Excuse me a moment,” Aziraphale said and pushed away from the table. It had been just over five minutes since Crowley had left, she knew because Crowley had left her phone on the table and Aziraphale had been using it to check the time far more often than she should. She was not one to judge how long one spent in the bathroom but there was a nagging in her head. She pocketed the phone and stood up, walking down the main hall. The restroom door was open, and there was a pair of boots missing from the shoe shelf. Aziraphale stepped outside; Crowley was sitting on the hood of an old black car, sunglasses off and tucked into her jacket. 

“You forgot your phone,” Aziraphale said.

“Oh,” Crowley straightened up a bit, she reached for her sunglasses, but didn’t put them on her face. 

Aziraphale padded carefully across the ice and handed the phone over, sleek and black like almost everything about the person it belonged to, “Aren’t you cold?”

“No,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale made a chastising sound at the obvious lie, “Anathema has my keys.” 

“Ah,” she gestured to the spot next to Crowley, “May I sit?” Crowley nodded, and moved over. 

They sat in silence for a while. Staring at the house. Aziraphale told herself the warmth in her cheeks were from the cold rather than the quick glance she’d gotten at Crowley’s eyes in the faint streetlights. They were hardly visible, the angles of her face casting sharp shadows over her visage, but Aziraphale could tell that her eyes were wide and bright and  _ golden.  _

A kitten crawled out of Crowley’s pocket and right into Aziraphale’s lap. Adam, she remembered. She had the vague realization that his eyes seemed to match Crowley’s to a  _ t. _

“Oh, hello,” she said, “Do you really bring these two everywhere?”

“Probably not for much longer. They’re getting too big.”

“Shame,” Aziraphale said, “I’d love for them,”  _ for you _ “to visit me at the library again. My mum’s allergic to cats,” Crowley hummed sympathetically, “otherwise we would’ve had at least a few growing up,” she scratched Adam’s cheek, scooting a bit closer to Crowley’s warmth, “I do love them.” 

Crowley paused, “Maybe I’ll bring ‘em in on Monday, if you’ll be there. They like you.” 

“I’m certain I will be,” Aziraphale assured, then added, “that’s very kind of you.”

“Kind.” 

“That’s what I said, yes.”

“‘M’not...Not really,” Crowley turned back to face her, cheeks pink with chill and beautiful eyes bright with something Aziraphale wouldn’t think too hard about, “It’s good for them to meet people.” They fell back into a comfortable almost-silence, both knowing that they were no longer talking about the cats at all.

  
  


The purr of an engine broke the air. Crowley and Aziraphale straightened up, leaning away from each other ( _ when had they gotten so close?,  _ Crowley wondered). A blue and white Shelby turned into the driveway, parking behind the Bentley. She could feel Aziraphale’s eyes on her, but Crowley refused to look to make sure, instead keeping her gaze trained on the person getting out of the car. 

“Hey, am I parking you in?” 

“Me?” Crowley called in answer, at the same time as Aziraphale’s “hello, Toni!” Crowley furrowed her brow in confusion - she was pretty sure that she hadn’t told Aziraphale her full name - before it registered that Toni was the name of the brunette. Toni waved, then turned her attention to Crowley.

“Yeah, you,” as she came closer, Crowley could make out a short woman with a dash of curly brown hair and a wide smile, “unless there’s someone else in the coven who’s somehow been hiding a  _ 1933 Bentley _ from me all this time.” 

“I’m here with a friend,” Crowley explained, “She took my keys so I can’t leave. You’re fine where you are,” she grinned, “nice to meet someone who appreciates my baby.” 

“Where’d you find her?”

“Had her from new.” They both laughed. It was practically true: the Bentley (or what was left of it) had been a gift for Crowley’s seventeenth birthday, and she’d spent years rebuilding and upgrading the car. 

“We can give you a ride, if you’d like,” Luka’s voice came from Crowley’s right as she exited the house and made her way to the Shelby, “perfect timing, Toni.” 

“Cara mia!” Toni made a show of kissing Luka’s hand, letting the taller woman wrap an arm around her waist as they both turned back to Crowley. They were offering her an out, she realized. 

If asked later, Crowley would have insisted that her reasoning behind what she said next was something along the lines of not wanting to be a third wheel, or not wanting to leave her car in the hands of Anathema (neither of which were untrue). But in the moment, Crowley looked at Luka and Toni, then back to Aziraphale, who had Warlock kneading her thighs and was teasing Adam with a loose string on her sweater.

“Nah,” she said finally. Aziraphale glanced up, and their eyes met, “I think I’ll stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout-out to the Frostiron Discord server for helping me with far more car stuff than I ended up actually needing to use -Hal

**Author's Note:**

> co-written with art by hal https://www.instagram.com/halmanuut/ ! comments and kudos appreciated


End file.
